if you are sitting comfortably, then i shall begin...
every year as a young child, i would spend my summer vacations on the coast of Cornwall in a small fishing village, with my three older brothers and my folks.
as far as i can remember, our two weeks of holidaying consisted of
~ early morning walks to the next village for newspapers and fresh bread
~ day after day playing on the beach building walls to stop the tide from coming in
~ one of us getting sun burnt despite my mother's careful two hourly applications
~ the sun always shinning and it never, ever raining
~ going to the pub in the evening for a packet of crisps and a bottle of coke
~ staying up late playing cards and board games
~ spending pocket money on shell creatures with glued on 'googly' eyes
~ wearing fishermen smock tops in red and blue
~ and new clogs
("lordy here we go again" i hear you sigh)
that's right dearest readers, for as long as i can remember summer vacations as a child meant a new pair of clogs.
we would take a trip to the big town nearby, climb the windy narrow pavement, risking life and limb with the lorries careering past and venture into the Clog Shop.
where upon the noise of the high street would fade away and i would be transported to Clog heaven...
i would gaze at all the lovely pretties lined up before me, marveling at how Sweden must surely be the best place on earth to live, as everyone wore clogs upon their feet.
then after a while of 'marveling', my mother and i would chose a pair and leave, clippity clopping out of the shop to spend the next year wearing our clogs with great pride.
one such year, upon entering the Clog Shop i spied a pair to equal no other pair of clogs i had owned before.
my feet once again having grown, required me to peruse the shelves of 'clog heaven' and make a choice,
but there was no choice to be made that day, only the pair before me would do,
for i could see no other clogs,
just the pair that called my name, telling me i was the chosen one.
yes indeedy, a patchwork brown and tan pair needed my feet and my love.
i left that day, with my 'true loves' on my feet and a skip in my step...
soon after, my family moved home thus resulting in a change of schools midyear.
i dressed myself aged 10, most finely i felt, for my first morning.
upon my feet, my trusty patchwork clogs.
that day was the first day in my life i saw myself through eyes belonging to others,
my beautiful 'pride and joy' clogs appearing to be a cause of amusement for my new classmates.
i came home,
i took my clogs off,
i placed them in the cupboard
and
i never took them out again.
my childhood affair with clogs was over,
there would be no more summer trips to Clog heaven for me...
but dearest readers do not despair, nor weep into your little hankies,
for we all know a good tale must have it's element of sadness, but with luck, a good tale also turns out just dandy in the end.
and this little tale is no exception...
yes indeedy,
for that 'clog loving' little girl,
who was knocked down so long ago,
and
who took quite a while to get back up,
(actually 31 years to be precise)
is standing tall and happy today,
thanks to the mighty fine vintage clog aisles on Etsy!
that's right my 'clog loving' dearest readers,
the most beautiful, bright, perfectly sized,
secondhand Swedish clogs have found me.
to think, they were waiting out there in the world, sensing that one day Tif would be on her thrifty, handcrafted year.
that i would turn back to the path that leads to Clog heaven,
that i would long to hear the 'clippity clopping' of wooden souls upon the ground beneath
and
that i would go searching for some 'perfectly peachy' clogs to call my own again.
i'm so tres delighted with my new found friends that i crafted them a 'little sunshine sack' to match, to show them i'm commited to our long life together and so they may cut 'quite the dash' upon the streets of my home town...
she sees the peachiest of 'clog heaven' summers ahead for her and her little sweeties ~ Tif
footynote: now would not be the time to mention that little olive also loves my clogs, that little olive and her pesky ways has taken such a liking to my clogs that alas, they are now sporting a rather sad looking wound.
i am also thinking now would not be the time to confess at the point of discovering rather sad looking wound, i said some very wrongful things to little olive, such things as "i'm calling the hot dog factory" and other such unforgiveables when talking to a sausage dog, yes i am thinking now is not the time...